


Oral Hygiene

by ofWildflowersandPoisonedEarth



Category: Pose (TV 2018)
Genre: Adultery, Complex Emotions, Guilt, Multi, authentic human beings, character sketch, phonies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 09:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15793812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofWildflowersandPoisonedEarth/pseuds/ofWildflowersandPoisonedEarth
Summary: A look inside Stan and Patty's natures, and marriage, following Stan's initial encounter with Angel.





	Oral Hygiene

 

Guilt gnaws. Shame burns. Secrets have mass; a weight like a physical burden that bows the spine and erodes the will and life force of any man.

Bows. Bowes. He wondered at the significance of the words that crossed his mind, and at the significance of himself, if there was any left, or if it had all eroded.

The vanity lights in his bathroom were too bright, when all he wanted was a shadow. Stan tingled and felt the hum of his own blood pressure, as searing waves of shame rushed to his face, looking through the cracked door of the en suite. His dark eyes landed a gaze, heavy with remorse, on his wife.

Patty laid on her side, back turned, and silky brown hair laid out on the pillow. She slept soundly, unsuspecting and innocent. Stan would have smiled, but everything was different now; dirty and tainted with his filth. Sweet Patty. Dutiful, she made his suppers, made his children and raised them like a mother in a Little Golden Book would. She hadn't asked for any of this; in fact, she'd never asked for anything at all. A smile crossed his lips at the notion that she obediently laid her head to rest on a "Hers" pillow every night, as though she were obligated, and following the directions of an inanimate object.

She was a good girl. She never had aberrant thoughts. She wasn't devious. She never felt entitled to do things for herself. Stan felt sick. How could he have done such a thing to her; committing a selfish betrayal that her wildest imagination could not possibly dream?

Stan felt paralyzed with guilt, but discovered that somehow his hands had moved automatically, like an assembly line robot, going automatically through the motions of life. Maybe that was why he'd done it in the first place, he questioned, to feel real or alive. Whatever the excuse, he looked down and saw a thick band of toothpaste on his brush and could only assume he'd done it.

He still felt Angel's kiss seared on his lips. Angel's tongue on his. Angel's slick saliva mingled with his own, as they'd sat in the front seat of the car he'd driven Patty to the hospital in to deliver their youngest child.

Stan furiously brushed his teeth, unaware his arm was pounding like a jackhammer, whipping up lather to fill his mouth. Like a sinner's flagellation, he stared dead eyed and dreamy past himself at the distorted mirror image of his trusting wife, waiting for the sour taste of iron blood to fill his mouth. When he did, he brushed his tongue with equal fury, until Angel was all gone. It wasn't until he spat the pink froth from his mouth, and swished a snort of Listerine that he felt his pulse slow and the heat drain slowly from his face.

He searched his own eyes now, under the bright vanity lights, like a detective sitting across from a suspect during an interrogation. He'd never do it again. Never. Patty and the kids and his job and his vows... they were safe. They meant something. Never, ever again, he assured the face in the mirror, until it seemed to soften and accept his promise.

Stan didn't feel his arm flip off the light switch. He dragged silent like a golem left behind from a bygone time of real men and real women to Patty's kitchen, to her fridge. She was a real woman. A legitimate human being. He was nothing. Just a bottle of cheap cologne in the bottom of an empty briefcase. Solace was only ever found away from the prying eyes of the other human beings, in the presence of other imposters and dopplegangers, other reasonable facsimiles for real people. Realness was his only real enemy. The mirror held up, which showed him no reflection at all.

A Waterpik. Wasn't that what those were called? But surely he'd never do it again... never go to the pier. Never need to brush Angel away for Patty again.

Patty's grocery list bore one request from Stan the next morning. She exhaled hard, standing in the Kroger's toothbrush aisle. Stan always had such costly appetites. When a disposable plastic lobster bib would have been enough for her, if only he'd ever felt authentically hers, Stan needed a rotating restaurant on the top of the world. She stood leaden, thinking about what this meant. He was so hollow, and no matter how long she tried to find bottom, something steady and solid within him, all she did was free fall into nothing. Finally, her daughter shook her arm, and shook her free from this unpleasant insight into reality.

She'd have to wait another month for that dishwasher if he needed this status toothbrush. And she'd have to drive to the city besides.

 


End file.
